


Flighty Broads and their Supernatural Passive-Aggressive Power Plays

by swordmouse



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Fae Mom Lalonde, Fae Rose Lalonde, Rainbow Drinker Kanaya Maryam, Rainbow Drinkers, Vampire Kanaya Maryam, Vampires, flighty broads and their snarky horseshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20007961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordmouse/pseuds/swordmouse
Summary: Rose, a fae, engages in a battle of wits with the attractive vampire at the All Hallow's Eve festival. Things go downhill from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr post:
> 
> "The ultimate power move in a vampire/fairy rivalry would be the fairy inviting the vampire over for tea. The vampire has natural dominion over anyone who invites them into their home, the fairy has natural dominion over anyone who violates the laws of hospitality, and neither can refuse the appointment without showing weakness, so it’d just be a constant headgame of the vampire trying to manoueuvre the fairy into a position where the obligations of hospitality allow the vampire to eat them, and the fairy trying to trick the vampire into doing something that would allow the fairy to declare them a poor guest."
> 
> -[prokopetz](https://prokopetz.tumblr.com/post/184250983812/the-ultimate-power-move-in-a-vampirefairy-rivalry)

You see the vampire, as you always do, on All Hallow’s Eve. After the tithe to hell has been paid every seven years, the festivities begin. The fae and vampire courts mingle, dancing and, in the case of your “mother,” getting sloshed on fairy wine. You, of course, don’t know the name of the vampire who always catches your eye. Names are not so easily given in this sort of company. But she always shows up impeccably dressed, her colorful garments standing out in the typically more reserved crowd of vampires and her black lipstick matching your own. She has short hair arranged into stylish spikes, and you have never seen her dancing with a man. You find her captivating.

You make eye contact with her across the clearing. She’s reclining against a tree, delicately sipping from a goblet of blood. She returns your eye contact, and then something unusual happens. She approaches you.

“Orange Pajamas,” she says, looking you up and down. “What A Bold Fashion Choice. I Admire How You Just Wear Anything.”

You keep your demeanor cool and unaffected. “I appreciate the compliment from someone with such... discerning tastes.” You pointedly look down at her goblet, then back up at her bloodstained teeth. 

She runs her tongue across her fangs and gives you a slight smile. “You Don’t Seem To Be Enjoying The Party. Not Many Friends Here Tonight?” You don’t miss the implication that your social life is lacking, since nearly every supernatural creature attends these parties.

“Oh, I try to meet interesting new people at these sorts of events. No luck so far, though.”

“I Wish You Luck In Finding Someone Who Enjoys Spending Time With You.”

Oh, she’s good. As a fae, you have a finely tuned sense of the unspoken exchange of power that underlies any conversation. You like to refer to it, privately, as your Snarky Horseshitometer. This vampire is matching your passive-aggression point for point. You decide to go for a more overt power play.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” 

“I Don’t Believe We Have,” she responds, sidestepping the unspoken question. “A Lack Of Mutual Acquaintances, Perhaps.”

“That’s expected, I suppose. I pride myself on my high standards in friends.”

“Likewise. I Will Not Need Your Name, Regardless. It Should Be Sufficient To Refer To The One In The Pumpkin Themed Attire.”

“I shall simply refer to you as the young vampire courageously rebelling against the monotone modes of dress preferred by your peers, then. That is, if I should find myself in the unlikely scenario in which I need to discuss you.”

The music, played by a group of humans who doubtless won’t remember any of this by morning, shifts to a slower waltz.

“Shall We?” the vampire asks, holding out a manicured hand. “I Wouldn’t Want To Leave You Without A Partner.”

You take her hand. “I do try to maintain a reputation for my occasional bouts of charity.” You join the throng of dancers whirling through the moonlit clearing. She lets you lead. “Not to imply that you owe me anything for this dance, of course. This favor comes without a price.”

“Your Generosity Is Truly Unparalleled. I Do Hope You Don’t Worry About The Dangers Of Dancing With A Vampire. Any Such Concerns Would Be Unnecessary. As You Remarked Upon Earlier, I Have Discerning Tastes.” She gives you a fangy little smile as you move closer to her, following the ebb and flow of the dance.

“I assure you, no such concern had entered my mind. I only fear those who pose a threat to me, you see.” 

You twirl her around in time to the music. Next to you, your mother is twirling an unknown man in a white fedora. You try to avoid catching her attention, but it’s too late.

She squeals when she sees you, grasping for your arm and missing. “Did you make an- a new friend? Tha’s adorable.” She winks at you exaggeratedly.

“ _Mother_ ,” you hiss. The vampire is smiling at your embarrassment, and you sense the Snarky Horseshitometer tipping in her favor.

“You should invite her over sometime, Ro-”

“ _Mom!_ ” You manage to stop her before she reveals your name, your actual true name, to this vampire and anyone else in hearing range. You grit your teeth into a forced smile and turn to the vampire, who looks amused. “I believe it’s time for us to take our leave.” You try to think of some parting jab at how she’ll miss your company, but the near miss with your name has left you off balance.

“I Had A Lovely Evening,” she says. “So, Then, Will You Listen To Your Mother And Invite Me Into Your Home?” She has a wicked gleam in her eye. She clearly thinks you’re too afraid to extend an invitation to a vampire. Well, bold of her to assume that you value your common sense above passive-aggressive power plays.

“I will,” you say, and relish the brief look of surprise that crosses her face. “Consider yourself invited.” 

With your words, you feel an invisible bond of hospitality form and pull taut between you and her. Good. Let her enter into your domain, where you can play with your words until she slips up and becomes indebted to you. Or let her show weakness and refuse your invitation. Either way, you’ve already won.

“Til I See You Next, Then,” she says, and you nod at her as you begin to pull your mother away from her dance partner.

“I look forward to the occasion,” you say, and she gives you a fanged smile as she disappears into the crowd.


	2. Chapter 2

You had hoped that your mother would not remember the events of the previous night. Unfortunately, she makes her recollection of the evening clear by leaving you a gift.

It’s a vial of dark liquid, the violet-tinted glass accentuated with twining silver that matches the filigreed handle of the accompanying brush. The attached label proclaims that it is “Thrice-enchanted eternal kiss-proof lip stain in the shade “Void,” removable only by counter-spell, concocted from the darkest strands of moonless midnight in the deepest cavern, with a pleasant cherry flavor.” The word “kiss-proof” is underlined twice in your mother’s signature pink ink. You recognize the brand of the lip stain, which is in the “promised firstborn child” price range. You set the vial down and fume.

Your mom, like most fae, is prone to over-the-top favors. Her facade of motherly sincerity makes her attempts to put you in her debt all the more insulting. You, in turn, retaliate with your own passive-aggressive gestures. Just last week, you put the finishing touches on a wall tapestry embroidered with the word “SHREW.” Unfortunately, you had run out of the olive-colored thread you were using for the lettering before you reached the W, so you were forced to finish in jade. Your mom had responded by converting a wing of the house into a well-stocked tailor’s shop, including an enormous supply of olive thread. In turn, you had used all the thread to bind one of your mother’s favorite colossal wizard statues and dangle it by its ankles from a chandelier. Your mom had not responded to your most recent move yet, but you were sure she was working on something truly devious.

You tilt the vial of lipstain from side to side, watching the fluid coat the inside of the glass. It’s a clever move against you. She is mocking your interest in the vampire by construing it as romantic, while also insinuating that you need her extravagant favors to help with your own romantic endeavors. You consider retaliating to this latest slight by writing a thank you note in your own blood. You are struck by the memory of the vampire running her tongue over her blood stained teeth. You decide against it. You’ll just calligraph the thank you note in normal ink and have it bound and illuminated.

Inviting the vampire over was worth it just to see the look on her face, but it was also not the smartest thing you’ve ever done. She poses a danger to you, as well as to mother dearest. Most fae have nothing to fear from a vampire’s hunger, but you and your mom were both humans once. 

Your mom, in her typical poor judgement, wandered into a fairy party several centuries back and, in worse judgement, partook in fairy refreshments. Sure, she showered the party’s hosts with generous gifts first, so she didn’t indebt herself to them. Even as a human, she had always had more money than sense and a habit of trying to buy everyone’s affection with trinkets. Even without a debt, though, consumption of fairy food and drink has consequences, and addiction is a powerful thing. If she had gone back to the world of humans, she would have wasted away, refusing inferior human fare. So she stuck around with the fairies.

You were a changeling child, replaced and stolen away from whatever human parents you had. Your mother likes to claim that she found you abandoned as an infant, the kinless child of a falling star. You are skeptical of this story. As far as you know, she means that you were left alone in a room for a few minutes before she snatched you. 

Either way, despite your positions in fairy society, you both have human bodies, albeit altered by fairy magicks. You have invited a vampire into the home of two beings with human blood. Mistakes, as they say, were made.

On the bright side, if she does decide to make a meal of you, she will put herself into an incalculable amount of debt to you. This will not be particularly beneficial to you, however, if you have been exsanguinated. A better plan is called for here. 

If you can get her into enough debt before she drinks you like a cheap boxed wine, then you’ll be safe. Her entry into your home will help a little, unless she can find a way to repay your hospitality. You will simply have to outdo any of her favors with ludicrously excessive counter-favors. You will be an excellent host, and it will be her undoing.


	3. Chapter 3

Your sanguivorous acquaintance has been sighted entering fae land. Your mom decides to inform you of this news by bursting into your room (without knocking, just to rub it in that she owns this house and your threshold means nothing to her,) and declaring that “your lover is on her way!”

“Mom,” you hiss, setting aside your knitting, “she is  _ not _ my lover. She is a vampire, and she is coming here to kill us both.”

Your mom just smiles benignly and gives you a soothing pap on the head. You sigh.

“How long before she gets here?”

“I don’t know. Oh! I’ll set out some elderberry wine for you two.”

She leaves the room before you can explain to her, again, that you don’t drink, and your visitor definitely never drinks... wine.

In your mother’s absence, you glare at the “kiss-proof” lipstain she gave you, which you, despite yourself, have a sudden urge to apply. You don’t need it. You’re not going to be kissing anyone, least of all the vampire who’s probably plotting your demise at this very moment. There’s no reason you should apply the lipstain.

...You fail to resist the urge.

You arrive downstairs, lips unsmudgeably darkened, to see your mother setting up crystal decanters on the sitting room table. You resolve to move them as soon as she leaves the room.

There’s a knock on your door.

You turn to your mom. “Get. Out.” 

She gives you an exaggerated sigh before attempting to ruffle your hair (you successfully dodge) and teetering away with one final wink in your direction.

You give your outfit a nervous onceover, then open the door. The vampire is there, smiling slightly, holding a massive bouquet. God fucking dammit.

“Welcome,” you say. “I do hope you didn’t have too much trouble getting here. These woods can be so easy to get lost in when one isn’t as clever as they think they are.”

She sweeps past you into the house. “That Must Be A Terrible Hardship For You.” She places the bouquet in your hands. “A Gift. I Picked Them Fresh From My Garden This Morning.” 

You take the bouquet with a strained smile. “It’s lovely.”

“I’m Glad You Like It,” she says.

“May I take your coat?” You  _ will _ be more hospitable than she is, flowers or no flowers.

“Of Course.” She slips out of it gracefully. You try, unsuccessfully, to suppress the mental image of her slipping out of her pink off-the-shoulder dress just as easily. 

After hanging up her coat, you lead her into the sitting room, casually grabbing an ostentatious, wizard-shaped vase on your way there. You place the bouquet in the vase and set it on the table between you before pulling out the vampire’s chair for her. You had hoped that she would slip up and thank you, but she just inclines her head to you before sitting.

The wine is still on the table. Goddammit. You consider pouring yourself some and taking a sip to make its presence seem intentional, but you remember what happened last time you tried to drink your mom’s alcohol and decide against it.

[Pictured: what happened last time.]

Instead, you take out a ball of yarn and your knitting needles. You’ll knit the vampire a nice scarf. That’ll show her.

“I Didn’t Think Your Kind Could Create,” she says, as you start knitting.

“Changelings can. I didn’t think your kind could go out in the daylight.” 

“I’m Not That Variety Of Vampire.”

“I see. I don’t meticulously keep track of the weaknesses of different species.” Not technically a lie. You only keep track of the weaknesses of individuals. You wish you knew more of hers.

“Of Course, That Would Be Quite Tedious For You,” she says. Her gaze wanders across the room. “I Must Say, Your Home Decor Is So… Unique.” 

You don’t like your mother’s wizard-themed decorations either, but you figure you should put up a unified front against your guest.

“Yes, it can seem unusual to those without the intellectual faculties to appreciate the rich cultural subtexts inherent in thaumaturgical oeuvre.”

“I Would Never Consider Myself An Expert In Such Niche Specialties. Perhaps I Will Come To An Intellectual Such As Yourself Should I Ever Find The Need To Remedy My Abode's Lack Of Seven Foot Tall Stone Wizards.”

“I would, of course, be more than happy to assist you,” you say.

“I’m Sure You Would Quite Enjoy My Home. It’s Remote, Much Like Yours.” 

You’re not sure if the implied “no one will hear you scream” was intentional or not, but you’re going to go ahead and assume it was. It’s a shame she’s trying to kill you; you’re actually really enjoying this exchange. She’s matching your cutting remarks blow for blow.

“And It Has The Most Beautiful Gardens,” she continues. She plucks a single flower from the bouquet and twirls the stem between her fingers, deftly avoiding the thorns. A rose. 

A feeling of dread settles in the pit of your stomach. You school your face into an expression of neutrality, but from her sly smile, you know she caught your brief flash of dismay.  _ Fuck. _

The vampire brings the rose up to her face and inhales deeply. You wonder if she can hear your rapid heartbeat from across the table, if she can smell your pulsing blood.

She knows your name.  _ She knows your name. _ Between the power she’s gained over you and vampiric persuasion, she could ask you to feed yourself to her and you would. You are so fucked.

She places the rose back amongst the bouquet and stands up. You are rooted to your seat as she approaches you. She leans in, and you are perfectly still as you feel her breath ghost against your neck. 

“ _ Kanaya _ ,” she breathes, her lips practically touching your ear.

“What?”

“My Name,” she says, “Is Kanaya.” And then she’s kissing you.

Her mouth is cool against yours, like you have a fever. Your eyes close as you kiss her back.

You can feel her fangs jutting out over her lower lip, but she’s careful not to let them scrape you. This close, you can smell her perfume, or maybe just the lingering scent of her shampoo: floral, with a hint of sandalwood. 

Her lips gently tug at your lower lip, and one of her hands rests against the nape of your neck, sharp nails ghosting across your scalp. The vampire — Kanaya — moves closer, straddling your lap as she deepens the kiss. You are acutely aware of every point of contact between her body and yours. When you pull away slowly to take a breath, she looks at you with concern.

“Was That Alright? I Should Have Asked First. I Hope I Have Not Horribly Misread The Situation.”

For once, you can’t think of any witty remarks, and you can’t quite bring yourself to care.

“I’d like it if you kissed me again,” you say.

She breathes out a quiet “Oh” before her lips are meeting yours again, and everything is wonderful and perfect and your lipstick isn’t even a little smudged.


End file.
